Companions
by Ceathra
Summary: A series of scenes showing how the Grey Warden gets along with various members of her party. Same PC as in "So Close".
1. Alistair

Alistair was lecturing her. Again. Elspeth didn't really mind; in fact, if she closed her eyes she could almost imagine that the other warden's nagging voice was Fergus's.

"I mean running up to a hurlock and yelling, 'bite me' is beyond irresponsible! It's stupid, and reckless, and…why are you smiling like that?"

Elspeth's grin only widened as she opened her eyes and saw Alistair's face twisted into a comical mixture of fury and confusion. "Sorry," she said, not particularly repentantly. "For a moment there you sounded just like my older brother."

He sighed. "Did _he_ ever have any luck getting you to listen to reason?"

"No," she replied cheerfully. "He did give me my first sword though. I'd never seen my mother so angry. At first I thought she was actually…going…to…" her voice trailed off, the laughter fading from her eyes as she remembered the last time she had seen her mother. Alistair knew the feeling.

"I'm sorry," he said gently. "I didn't mean to bring up painful memories."

Elspeth shook her head. "It's not your fault," she replied softly.

Both were silent for a moment, staring into the fire; then Alistair asked hesitantly, "Are you…going to be all right?"

Her expression hardened. "Ask me again when Rendon Howe lies choking on his own blood."


	2. Zevran

Zevran stood behind the Warden's right shoulder, as close as a lover. One more step and she would have been able to feel his breath on her neck. She smelled of woodsmoke and leather and oiled steel and, unexpectedly, lavender. For three days now, he had watched the wardens and their companions make their way toward his carefully devised ambush, but he had not been able to get this close to any of the party until this morning's fight with a group of bandits had left the mabari warhound badly injured. Now, with the great beast lying by the campfire, swathed from nose to tail in bandages and tended by the matronly old mage, the dog's mistress took her watch alone, and Zevran took full advantage of this opportunity to study his mark more closely. Her soft, shoulder-length hair looked black in the darkness of the nighttime forest, but he knew that in a few hours the rising sun would strike reddish fire from the dark auburn tresses. Her pale skin, too seemed colorless without the warmth of the sun's light. The only color and movement that proved she was not some eerily lifelike statue carved out of moonbeams and darkness came from her startlingly blue eyes, wide and alert, searching the trees in vain for the death that stood by her side, unnoticed.

A low growl sounded from the direction of the camp, and the warden turned to see her dog limping toward her, still heavily bandaged, a warning rumbling in his throat.

"What is it, 'Ulf?" she asked gently, reaching down to ruffle the animal's ears. "You smell something?"

The dog responded with an odd, growling whine that sounded almost like words, and the warden smiled.

"Well then you probably scared whatever it was away, good dog," she knelt and kissed the mabari's broad, furry forehead. "Now go lay back down. You need your rest, and if you don't get it Wynne is going to lecture me mercilessly and possibly bathe you."

At the mention of a bath, the dog gave a short, alarmed, "Whuf!" and, after checking again to make sure the source of the strange, foreign scent was really gone, hop-limped back to the fireside as fast as his injured limbs would carry him.

In his own silent, fireless camp that night, Zevran's dreams were full of shining blue eyes and the smell of lavender.


	3. Oghren

"I'm not sure this is going to work."

Oghren grunted. "Don't underestimate me, Warden. I've pissed off cooler customers than you."

Elspeth sighed. "I don't doubt it. It's just…I thought you were going to teach me how to _use_ my anger, not how to _get_ angry. I can do that myself."

"Can you now?" Oghren scowled belligerently up at her. "Why'n't ya show me that?"

"What? Now?"

The dwarf snorted. "No, tomorrow at two in the afternoon. You think the darkspawn'll leave a calling card and ask when's convenient for you?"

"Well no…I mean…I just…I didn't…"

"Ah fergit it," Oghren waved a hand dismissively. "Yer too timid. Same as all the other topsiders. Betcha that's why you ran away with the Wardens when yer folks got killed too."

Afterwards she didn't remember dropping Yusaris. She didn't remember lunging for Oghren's throat. And she had no idea how she ended up on her back in the dirt with the dwarf standing on her chest, grinning, his battleaxe hovering a breath away from her neck. "Well done, Warden. I didn't even have to kick you in the," he paused, glancing down at the female form under his boots, "…whatevers."

"If you _ever_ speak about my family that way again…" she growled through gritted teeth, but Oghren interrupted her with a careless shrug.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You'll chop me into little bitty pieces and feed them to your mutt. Now that you know what it feels like, think you could do that again?"

Elspeth blinked, the fog of rage beginning to clear. "I…guess so."

"Good," Oghren hopped, none too lightly, down from her chest. "Next lesson: Holdin' on ta yer weapon."


	4. Leliana

"Yes, ser—er—milady—er—Grey Warden…." One look at Elspeth's mighty sword, and the poor farmer couldn't get the string of honorifics past his trembling lips fast enough. She hated doing this. The man was just trying to keep his land and family safe, and he had every reason to refuse lodging to the motley band of armored, blood-spattered wanderers on his doorstep. On the other hand, with her companions sorely wounded, a storm growing rapidly on the horizon, and no inn nearby, Elspeth was forced to find whatever shelter she could, by whatever means necessary. As she re-sheathed Yusaris and led the way back toward the barn she had just "negotiated" the use of, Leliana bounced up beside her with an exaggerated shiver of excitement. "Oooh! I just _love_ it when you put on your Teyrna panties!"

Elspeth blinked. "I… my what?"

"You know," again, a delighted little bounce, "when you get all regal and commanding like that. You just look so…" the pause was for dramatic effect, Elspeth was sure. The bard was never at a loss for words, "…magnificent!"

Elspeth sighed. "I don't like doing it. We have no right to just barge into people's homes like this."

"But… you're doing the Maker's work! And you're a Grey Warden."

"Or so I say… well… I say the Grey Warden part. You say the bit about the Maker. Anyway, as far as that man knows we could be bandits come to murder his family in their sleep."

Leliana smiled angelically. "Well isn't he lucky we're legendary heroes instead!"

Elspeth glanced back to see Sten carrying Oghren's unconscious form draped over his shoulder, and Alistair leaning—and bleeding—heavily on Wynne. Even Zevran drooped visibly. "Legendary," she repeated. "Heroes… Right," she shook her head with a sigh that turned into a yawn. "Oh, and Leliana?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't ever talk about my underwear that way again. It's deeply, deeply disturbing."


	5. Morrigan

"I cannot imagine how you endure it."

Elspeth glanced from Morrigan to the large—and admittedly somewhat smelly—warhound drooling sleepily on her feet. "Beornulf? Oh he's not so bad. In fact, if you go stand next to Oghren for a few minutes, you can't even smell 'Ulf for about an hour afterwards."

Morrigan snorted. "I've no doubt. That is not what I was referring to, however," her nose wrinkled a little with distaste as she went on. "That lout Alistair. You not only tolerate him, you allow him to call you… 'sister'. Why?"

"Oh, that," Elspeth smiled slightly. "Well, he is my brother in the order. We even share blood. Sort of. Because, you know, we've fought together so many times now," she added hastily. Elspeth had the feeling Morrigan knew a lot more about the Grey Wardens than she let on, but that was no reason for Elspeth to just go around blurting out the order's secrets. "Besides," Elspeth added, recovering her composure, "it's kind of nice to have a brother again. Alistair even reminds me of Fergus sometimes."

Morrigan made a face. "If _that_ is what a brother is like, I am fortunate indeed that I have none."

Elspeth laughed. "All right, I'll admit that about half the time Fergus and I just wanted to wring each other's necks, but the rest of the time he was—_is_ the best friend I've ever had, and if anyone else ever tried to bother me he would always have my back because… because that's what brothers do, I guess."

Morrigan looked thoughtful for a moment. "And… sisters too?"

"I don't know," Elspeth shrugged. "I've never had a sister."

"Nor have I," Morrigan hesitated, looking as if she wanted to say something more, then abruptly turned toward her tent. "Good night, Warden."

Elspeth shook her head, bemused. "Good night, Morrigan."


	6. Wynne

Elspeth winced slightly as the morning sunlight pierced the cloth of her tent to strike her closed eyes. She'd only gotten a few hours sleep, and she knew more about the personal lives of Antivan nobility than any one person really ought to, but at least her brief slumber had been untroubled by dreams or darkspawn. Smiling around her yawns, she followed her nose to the large pot steaming invitingly beside the fire. After a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching the pot, she stuck a finger into the thick porridge for a taste.

"You're quite taken with each other aren't you?"

Elspeth whirled around, her finger still in her mouth, to see Wynne watching her. There was a faint, disapproving line between the old mage's eyes. Elspeth hastily removed her finger from her mouth and wiped it surreptitiously on the edge of her tunic, while searching for an answer to the vague question. The best she could find at the moment was, "Huh?"

Wynne made a small, irritated noise in the back of her throat. "There's no point in either of us pretending we don't know what's going on between you two. Half the camp isn't getting any sleep the way you carry on all night."

_All night…_"Oh, you mean Zev and… wait… what do you mean 'carry on'? We don't 'carry on'; we talk, he tells stories, we laugh—we don't do… whatever it is you think… what _did _you think we were doing?"

Wynne shook her head. "I've noticed your blossoming relationship and wanted to ask where you thought it was going," she explained primly. "It seems he only ever has one thing on his mind. I question the wisdom of a Grey Warden being involved in such an affair."

Perhaps it was just her own tiredness, but Elspeth got the distinct impression that one of them wasn't making much sense. She also got the impression that Wynne thought she had done _something_ wrong and wasn't telling her what. Frustrated, she snapped, "_What_ affair? I happen to _like_Zevran; I _enjoy_ spending time with him. How does that have anything to do with me being a Grey Warden?"

But Wynne was now in full lecture mode and seemed oblivious to Elspeth's burst of temper. "Love," she explained, "is ultimately selfish. It demands that one be devoted to a single person, who may fully occupy one's mind and heart, to the exclusion of all else. A Grey Warden cannot afford to be selfish. You may be forced to make a choice between saving your love and saving everyone else, and then what would you do?"

Elspeth stared, wide-eyed at the old mage for a moment, and when she spoke, her tone was dangerously quiet. "Is that what this is about?" her previous air of sleepy unconcern dropped away as she straightened her back, every inch the daughter of a Teyrn of Fereldan. "You're afraid I would choose Zevran's life over yours?"

Wynne took an involuntary step back. "I merely—" she began, but Elspeth cut her off.

"I consider everyone in this camp a valued companion and a friend," one dark eyebrow arched wryly. "Even you. I will do anything in my power to protect _all_your lives. More than that, since you have all chosen to follow my command, your lives are my responsibility. As your leader, my blade must be the first into battle, my place is between you and the foe, and my head, if it comes to that, is the first on the block. If anyone's life is going to be sacrificed for anything, it had sodding well better be mine. _That_ is what it means to lead _and_ to serve. That is what _my father_ taught me. And no sermon you could possibly dream up is _ever_ going to change that."

Elspeth did not wait for a response, but turned on her heel and strode away, her hands clenched into fists so that Wynne would not see them trembling with fury.

In the shadows near the fire, Zevran drew back further into the cover of the trees, more troubled than he cared to admit by what he had heard. The words, _my head… on the block_, echoed over and over in his mind and made his blood run cold. He didn't really want to think about why.

* * *

Note: I know I don't usually use in-game dialogue in this fic, but there was so much that bugged me about this conversation- none of the possible responses were what I wanted to say at all. So this is Els and me blowing off a little steam; hope you don't mind.


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